


last the year

by sylwrites



Series: fall in light [5]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: Coda to "Fall in Light".People go, but how they left always stays. - Rupi Kaur





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Another coda. This one is three parts and I hope to be able to update it regularly, but as always there are no promises. :)

_“He had no idea. He tried to think of all the people in his life as chemicals, the uncertainty of mixing them together, the potential for explosions and scarring.”_

  * Kevin Wilson, The Family Fang



  


It's strange, being in Riverdale today.

 

Going back to the town that she grew up in is generally a weird experience. There’s her old house, her old bedroom, her old high school, and all the ghosts of days past that live in those places. There’s the diner where everyone used to hang out after school, the fast-flowing river alongside the trails where she first really discovered the calming effects of running, and the nearby lookout point where _it_ happened. The familiarity of everything and everyone is usually fairly overwhelming, but today it’s practically stifling.

 

There are two things distracting Betty from the weight on her chest. The first is Jughead, who has accompanied her to her hometown for the first time since they’d started dating the previous December. Her mother has been to visit in New York but her father and sister have yet to meet him, and given that they’ve been together nearly eight months, Betty figures that those acquaintances are overdue. The occasion of her father’s fifty-fifth birthday, to be celebrated today under a hot August sun, seemed to provide the perfect opportunity for all of this to take place.

 

She’s a little nervous, of course. When her mother met Jughead months prior, she hadn’t exactly made it smooth sailing for him. He’d taken it in stride, winning Alice Cooper not through sucking up or brown-nosing but by doing absolutely nothing differently. It was a shining example of why she’d fallen in love with him. Betty knows that he’d do the same if her father makes a big deal out of them dating, but she doesn’t want him to have to deal with the Cooper-crazy every time he meets someone in her family. He has to deal with it enough from her on a daily basis.

 

That in itself is enough to keep Betty’s mind off of the regular anxiety she has from being back in Riverdale. She’ll hold his hand and introduce him to people and pray that her dad likes him and that Polly can be somewhat of a mediating force if it goes poorly. That’s more than enough to occupy her mind for today. She doesn’t need anything else. There’s something else anyway, of course - something that’s been on her mind for the last few days, ever since this presented itself as a potential problem.

 

She’s late.

 

Betty’s period is always extremely regular. She’s been on birth control since she was a teenager (primarily as a tool for hormonal regulation and not for actual pregnancy prevention; apart from that one, terrible night, there was never really any risk of that happening), so she’s accustomed to predictable menstrual cycles. Before meeting Jughead, she wasn’t sleeping with anyone either, so any small disruption by one or two days was never met with panic.

 

But _now,_ things are different. Because now, it’s been five days since she was supposed to get her period, and she’s never wavered by more than three. Realistically, Betty knows her chances of being pregnant are very low - they always use protection on top of her birth control, and it’s only five days’ variance - but the thought is still there in her mind, hovering.

 

On the surface, Betty is still expecting it to come any time. She’s even wearing dark jean shorts instead of the white she’d planned for, just in case. They’re paired with a sleeveless blue floral top, complementing Jughead’s dark blue button-up and jeans combo in a perfect match. When they get off the bus from the city and spot her mother, Betty grabs Jughead’s hand and plasters a cheerful smile on her face as she waves to her.

 

(Everything is fine.)

 

They each have an overnight bag slung over their shoulder, but Betty hands hers to Jughead when they reach Alice so that she can pull her mother into a hug. “Thanks for picking us up, Mom,” she says into her shoulder.

 

“You’re welcome, Betty,” Alice replies, pulling back. She smiles at Betty, holding her by the shoulders briefly, and then turns her head toward Jughead. “Hello Jughead. Lovely to see you again.”

 

“Hi Mrs. Cooper,” Jughead says, reaching with his free hand to shake her hand. “Good to see you too. Um. Thanks for having us.”

 

“Of course,” Alice replies smoothly. “Come, your father will be so excited to see you.”

 

Betty nods and reaches over to Jughead for her bag. He shakes his head and shifts it into his right hand, then uses his left to prop up his own bag over his right shoulder so that he can grab her hand. Betty bites her lip against a smile and briefly rests her forehead on his shoulder before following her mother to the car.

 

On the drive back to her parents’ house, Betty points out various Riverdale landmarks to Jughead: the library, the high school, the public recreation centre (complete with a brand new swimming pool, a contentious issue that featured heavily in back issues of her parents’ paper, _The Riverdale Register),_ and the old drive-in. She promises that they’ll go for a walk later to see a bit more of it up close; first, there’s a party to attend.

  


Two hours later, Betty is curled up on the patio loveseat with her sister, her bare feet tucked underneath her. One of her knees is pressed against Polly’s leg, and it’s only now that Betty realizes how much of a tan she’s gotten so far this summer. Many of her parents’ friends are milling around, some inside the house and still others on the deck, which leaves the backyard lawn free for Polly’s two kids to run around like wild animals. They’re hopped up on sugar from her dad’s birthday cake, and Betty has a little bit of sympathy for her sister given how energetic her children seem to be this afternoon.

 

Polly sits beside her, one leg delicately crossed over the other, toes upturned to showcase both her colourful sandals and her bright orange pedicure. One hand is curled around a tall glass filled with gin and soda water, garnished with a fresh leaf of grapefruit mint from Alice Cooper’s herb garden. The perfect drink for the perfect girl from the perfect family - truly the Cooper way, Betty thinks. Of course, Polly is none of those things, but she’s always been able to put up a better front than Betty has.

 

Her sister is in town from Portland with her husband Michael and her kids, a shy four-year-old girl with big blue eyes named Lucy and an already-boisterous eighteen-month-old boy, Alexander. As she speaks to Betty, Polly is looking out at the lawn, keeping a watchful eye as her kids play with her husband and Jughead.

 

“I think Lucy has a crush on your boyfriend,” Polly muses, nodding her head in the direction of the lawn.

 

Betty follows her gaze and smiles at the sight her eyes fall upon. Jughead is crouched down to speak to Lucy, who is standing in front of him with a flower in her hand and a big smile on her face. He gives Lucy a half-grin and taps her nose, sending her into a fit of giggles before she begins to run around him in a circle. Plainly speaking, it’s adorable.

 

“Lucy has good taste,” Betty comments.

 

Polly laughs. “So do you,” she observes. “I really like him.”

 

“Thanks, Pol.” Betty bites her lip, unable to tear her eyes away from the interaction between her boyfriend and niece. “I like him too.”

 

Polly nudges Betty’s leg, causing her to finally look over. “How did it go with Dad?”

 

“Actually, good.” Betty glances over at her father momentarily. Hal Cooper is standing on the top deck with a beer in hand, looking every bit the consummate small-town charmer. Beside him is her mother, Stepford smile in place as always, one manicured hand politely touching the wrist of every guest that stops to speak to them even as she keeps one eye trained on the food and drink supply.

 

(The perfect hostess, always.)

 

“Dad liked him?”

 

Betty nods, turning back to Polly. It actually _had_ gone quite well; her father had been significantly less intimidating than her mother had tried to be. He’d been friendly while keeping a level of wariness in his eyes and tone of voice, which Betty figures is fair given that to him, Jughead is really just some guy from New York’s Craigslist that his daughter moved in with and started dating. “He was nice, at any rate. Moreso than I expected.”

 

“Well, it’s easy to like Jughead when you see the two of you together.” Polly touches Betty’s hand. “He seems to really care about you. And vice versa.”

 

“I’m in love with him,” Betty admits. “He's been so incredible to me.” She glances at her hand, still entwined with her sister’s, before catching Polly’s eye. “With … everything. So patient and kind and more than I could ever have asked for.”

 

Polly is nodding at her supportively. “That’s good. You deserve someone who treats you like a queen after everything you’ve been through.”

 

Betty bites her lip and looks over at Jughead, saying nothing in response. She’s never really been one to believe that she _deserves_ anything in particular just because she happens to be part of a horrible club of the millions of women and men in America who have been assaulted. It’s not exactly a gift, and she doesn’t want any compensation from the cosmos because of it. But Jughead … Lucy has hopped on his back, and now he’s parading her around the backyard piggyback-style as Alexander sort of dances around with Michael. Betty feels a faint prod in her chest that is almost certainly imagined, but nonetheless brings her brief visions of him with other children - _their_ children. She hasn't had much opportunity until now to see his interactions with kids, but he seems like a natural.

 

Jughead spots her looking at him and stops for a moment to wave. He gets Lucy to wave too, then the little girl prods at his shoulder and he starts moving around again. Betty smiles, letting out a light chuckle, and swallows hard. She'd always wanted kids. Growing up in a nuclear household like hers, in a seemingly idyllic place like Riverdale, it was just something she anticipated happening at some point. Then she'd been assaulted, and the very idea of even being with someone was terrifying and overwhelming, so she'd let the dream go.

 

She hadn't counted on meeting him. And now that she has him, that dream is shuddering back to life. Betty can feel a now-familiar pull somewhere south of her navel and takes a deep breath against the nerves that settle in her chest. She can picture it so clearly: her and Jughead in bed on a Sunday morning, a little boy snuggled between them, the perfect mixture of both of them. Part of her wants that so badly - but still another part is scared of how easy and natural that image is, particularly in light of her interrupted menstrual cycle.

 

“He'll be such a good dad,” Polly says with a grin as she points at Jughead and Michael, who have switched children. Now Jughead has lost his hat to the toddler, and Alexander is wearing it proudly.

 

Betty nods. “I don't know if he wants any,” she replies, her voice low and confidential. “He's had … a tough go of it so far. His family have their share of issues.”

 

“And we don't?” Polly snorts, nodding over in the direction of their parents. “Look at Mr. and Mrs. Everything-Is-Fine over there.”

 

“Oh, I definitely agree.” Betty holds her hands up in mock surrender. “It's just that it's made him a little commitment-phobic, I think. He freaked out when I told him I loved him. It's okay now, and that was a while ago, but I think it's too soon to talk about kids.”

 

Polly raises an eyebrow. “Well, obviously it's ideal not to _have_ kids until you're ready, but you need to talk about it, Betty.” She shrugs. “Shit happens. You know that Lucy wasn't planned. I'm glad I knew that Michael would at least be open to having a child, so when I found out we were pregnant the only thing I had to worry about was whether the time was - what? What's wrong?”

 

Betty shuts her eyes tightly as her sister peers at her, fighting the sting of hot tears that suddenly threatens. Polly’s words have stirred her concerns and stoked the anxiety that is always waiting just beneath the surface. She curls one of her hands up and lets the familiar press of her nails against her palm briefly ease the tension. “Um. My period is late right now.”

 

Polly’s jaw drops slightly. “Betty--”

 

“It’s probably nothing,” she interrupts, nodding as if that would make it more true. “I’m on birth control and we always use protection. But I’m usually very regular and it’s been five days now.” Betty opens her curled hand and tries to wipe away the blood that she’s drawn; instead, she kind of just smudges it, and has to clean the rest of it off on her shorts.

 

“Betty, you need to take a pregnancy test. One way or the other it’ll give you peace of mind,” Polly advises, placing a hand on Betty’s arm soothingly. She speaks quietly, with the practiced tone of someone who had grown up in a house with a myriad of secrets. “And _talk to him._ He has stuck by your side through so much. He’ll be there for you with this, too.”

 

Betty nods, breathing through her to nose to quell the rumbling in her chest. She knows that Polly is probably right - of _course_ Jughead will support her - but she hadn’t anticipated him flipping out at the L-word either, and that tiniest sprig of doubt has already taken root.

 

She opens her mouth to reply, but the words die on her tongue when her old friend Kevin suddenly appears, a broad grin on his face.

 

“Betty! Polly!” he exclaims. “Sorry I’m late, I just got off work. You guys look amazing!”

 

Both Betty and Polly get to their feet and sweep Kevin up in a three-person hug. “Hey Kev,” Betty greets, summoning all of the inner-Alice Cooper she can handle at the moment to push down her previous emotions about her maybe-pregnancy. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

 

Kevin tilts his head. “Come on, I wouldn’t miss Papa Cooper’s birthday for anything. Plus, your mother invited me _personally._ The only guy ever allowed in your house.” He winks at Polly, then puts a hand on Betty’s shoulder and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Did you bring him? Is he here?”

 

Betty laughs a little. “Yeah, I did.” She turns and calls toward the lawn. “Juggie, come here for a sec!”

 

Jughead hands Alexander to Michael with an apologetic smile and then jogs over to the deck. He’s still missing his beanie, so his dark hair has fallen even further into his eyes, and when he sweeps it back with one hand Betty has to fight the urge to kiss him. She _loves_ his hair. “Yeah, Betts?” he says, coming to stand beside her.

 

Betty leans into the arm that he winds around her waist. She hopes that he doesn’t have any sixth sense about the conversation she’d just had with Polly - it’s an unrealistic fear, but sometimes Jughead almost scares her with how on-the-ball he is about her emotions. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to, and sticks a hand out to Kevin. “I’m Jughead.”

 

Kevin appraises him, pretending to scrutinize him for Betty’s sake. She giggles; Kevin has always been able to take the tension out of a situation. He’s her oldest close friend, one of the only people who’d stuck by her through all of the bullshit in high school and afterward, and she’s told him all about Jughead and how supportive he’s been. “Kevin Keller, best friend,” he replies by means of introduction, shaking the offered hand. “I must say, Betty’s sent pictures, but you are even more attractive in person. The whole ‘dark features and bad attitude with a heart of gold’ thing is really working for you.”

 

Jughead chuckles and scratches his neck. He’s always been terrible at taking compliments, even from Betty, who loves how cute his reaction always is. “Thanks,” he says as he presses a kiss to Betty’s temple. “But it’s an illusion. Betty just makes me look good.”

 

“You’re so cheesy,” Betty says, but even as she rolls her eyes there’s a flush of heat on her cheeks. He shrugs and gives her an adorable half-smile, and Betty can’t stop herself from kissing him softly. His thumb rubs her waist as they pull apart.

 

“Okay, you guys are disgusting,” Kevin announces. “I am so happy for you. But I need a drink.” He leaves with a small wave, heading toward the kitchen and the small bar set up in the corner.

 

Betty just laughs as Polly also slides away, setting her drink down on the table so that she can go play with her family on the lawn. Jughead sits down on the vacated loveseat and pulls her down with him, his arm still around her. Betty lets her head fall to his shoulder and drapes her hand onto his leg, trying to focus on his touch and his scent and on anything other than the sinking pit in her stomach where the cramps from her period should be.

 

\--

 

The thought continues to occupy prime real estate in Betty’s head for the rest of the day. It follows her to the evening and then into the night when she lays awake, curled against Jughead in a spare bed in what was once her bedroom. He snores beside her, having fallen asleep almost immediately upon his head hitting the pillow. Betty can’t blame him; he’d met a lot of her family today and for all intents and purposes, had won them over. He deserves a good rest.

 

What he deserves is an uncomplicated life, Betty muses, a familiar and unwelcome knot twisting in her chest. _Ah, late-night doubt,_ she recalls, _my old friend._ She tries not to listen to the little voice in her head, because the things that it’s saying aren’t pleasant. That voice has never been kind to her: always spiteful, self-loathing, and fond of telling lies.

 

(Jughead can do better than her. Jughead is too good for her. She has too many issues for Jughead to deal with. Jughead is just looking for an exit strategy.)

  
Consciously, objectively, Betty knows that these are all untrue. He loves her so much that it overwhelms her at times to think about. But then there are times - like now, when it’s 2:30 in the morning and she can’t sleep and her mind has wandered - when Betty thinks about the way the closed apartment door looked after he’d left through it. She can recall the feeling of shock and panic that had coursed through her with the realization that three little words may have driven him away forever, and remembers the sharp physical pain in her knee from the fall she’d taken when trying to search for him in the dark winter. It’s these thoughts that paralyze her, because these aren’t objectively untrue. These are memories.

 

She’s not sure when she finally falls asleep, but when Betty wakes up at 6:30 it feels like she never went to sleep. Still, she can’t lay here anymore, so she pulls herself out of bed and goes for a run.

 

Running in Riverdale isn’t the same as running in New York. In New York, she doesn’t know everybody she passes by, and in New York, the streets aren’t haunted by her own lost innocence. Unable to force another smile and wave at one more fellow early riser whose kids she used to babysit or whose grandparents she read to in the retirement home, Betty turns toward the woods and runs toward the river.

 

She follows the trail along the riverbank until she’s out of town and then goes a little further anyway, over the bridge and into Greendale. Betty runs along the other side and then crosses back to Riverdale, coming into town just behind the trailer park. She finally heads back to her parents’ house only after realizing that she’s been out for almost two hours.

 

Jughead is awake when she returns. He’s showered and clothed but is still sitting on her now-made bed, an adorable look of nervousness stuck on his face.

 

“I don’t want to go downstairs without you,” he blurts out as soon as Betty enters the room.

 

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and bites down on it against the smile that comes anyway. “I understand,” she says, lifting her sweaty tank top off. “The Coopers, unfiltered, are a little terrifying.” She wriggles out of her tight shorts, peeling them off her legs, and moves to grab a robe to take to the shower with her. Upon turning slightly toward Jughead, however, Betty catches him staring at her ass.

 

His ears turn a little red, but there’s a level of base physical intimacy between them now, and he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he once would have. “Sorry, it just - have you ever seen the way your ass looks in a thong?”

 

Betty laughs softly and rolls her eyes. “I’m glad you’re a fan,” she informs him, coming over to the bed he’s sitting on to stand between his knees. Jughead’s hands run up the backs of her thighs and pause to squeeze her ass. Betty’s hands fall to his hair, yet to be covered by the beanie that sits beside him on the bedspread, and she tugs at him a little when he leans in to kiss her hip.

 

She’s not tall enough, and the kiss lands on her abdomen instead.

 

The lump in her throat is almost too big to swallow. She needs to take Polly’s advice and get her hands on a pregnancy test, just for peace of mind. Because this - she can’t handle this anymore.

 

Betty gently nudges Jughead back by the shoulders, letting her hair fall out of her ponytail and across her eyes to hide any emotions that she might be unable to mask. “I’m sweaty,” she explains apologetically, backing away slowly. “I’m going to take a shower. Then we can go down for breakfast and maybe we can take a walk around town before the bus leaves this evening?”

 

“I still don’t know why we didn’t stay a few more days,” Jughead comments, flopping back on the bed and shoving his hands behind his head, palms facing upward. “We literally came for thirty-six hours.”

 

Betty sighs a little and slips into her old ratty bathrobe, the one that she had deemed too shitty to take to New York but too good to donate to Goodwill. It’s pink and has frayed hems and lives on the back of her old bedroom door, hanging there just like it had for years. “That’s more than enough time with my parents,” she tells him, then closes the door after herself.

  


Three hours later, she’s back in the woods by Sweetwater River. This time, she’s hand-in-hand with Jughead, who has evidently lived in the city just long enough to be enthralled with all of the flora offered by a small town upstate. It seems to remind him of the little town that he and Archie are from - a place that he’s not likely to return to, Betty realizes, not now that Fred Andrews has moved to Newark. Jughead’s eyes dart from tree to tree to tree and then over to the flowing river; with each movement they seem to get lighter, his shoulders less tense, and his smile more carefree.

 

He belongs.

 

But then there’s the unopened pregnancy test in her purse, and when she tells him about it, that'll bring him back down quickly.

 

She’s a little sore from her extended run a few hours earlier, so even though Betty loves a slow hike by the water, right now she really just wants to sit down. Jughead seems pleased just to be outdoors in a place with no concrete in sight, so as expected, when Betty asks if they can take a break he is more than willing to oblige.

 

She sits down on the edge of the sloped riverbank, her feet resting on a protruding root. Jughead places himself behind her, propping his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her. “This comfy?” he asks.

 

Betty’s eyes close and she lets herself enjoy the moment. “Yeah.” There’s a breeze coming off the water, and with it a faint mist. The wetness feels good on her skin under the hot sun, and _god,_ if only everything could always be this perfect.

 

“This wasn’t totally horrible, you know.”

 

Her eyes open at his unexpected statement. “What?”

 

Jughead squeezes her waist. “Meeting your dad, and your sister, and the kids. It wasn’t horrible.” He’s behind her, but the jostling of his shoulder indicates to Betty that he’s shrugging. “Just wanted you to know. For future holidays and stuff - I liked visiting.”

 

His words should bring her relief, but Betty can’t relax yet. Not until she’s had a moment to herself to use this test and can confirm that she’s just jumping to conclusions. “That’s good. We’ll probably have to eventually come back,” she jokes weakly. “You were good with the kids, too.”

 

“They’re nice kids.” Jughead drops a kiss to the side of Betty’s neck. She tilts her head to the side so he has more access, arching her back slightly, and one hand wanders beneath the hem of her tank top.

 

Betty sighs at the sensations he’s creating with his mouth on her skin and lets out an audible moan when his hand slips into her bra. “Juggie,” she breathes, reaching her hand out to grab something and finding purchase on his knee.

 

“I love you,” he murmurs, the words so quiet that they're almost lost to the swift current. His thumb sweeps across her soft skin and meets his index finger to pinch her nipple gently. Betty jolts and leans back instinctively, her legs parting widely enough so that Jughead can slip his hand into the waistband of her shorts.

 

“I love you too,” she whispers, licking her lips. His fingers push her underwear aside, and Betty's mouth falls open wordlessly.

 

Jughead is still kissing her neck, his tongue matching circles with his thumb, and he only stops to briefly ask, “You good?”

 

Betty nods fervently, cursing the interruption, then returns to balancing her need to surrender to his touch with pretending to watch for other people. She's getting close, spurred on by her deep dive into distraction and by the added thrill of mild exhibitionism, and Jughead has to press his wrist against her thigh to stop her hips from lifting off the ground.

 

When she comes, it's with his hand between her thighs and her nails dug into his leg. He withdraws his hands from her and carefully tiptoes down to the river to wash them off in the water. Betty lays backward on the rocky sand, eyes focused on the leaves above her and on the blue sky beyond that. It's perfect, so of course she's about to ruin it.

 

“Do you want kids?” she blurts out. “Like, hypothetically.”

 

Jughead climbs back up the incline and flops beside her on his side, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Where is this coming from?” he asks, lifting a hand to her waist. He runs it along her side briefly, then brings it up to her chest to palm at her breasts over her shirt. Suddenly Betty feels distinctly sixteen, like this is how it should've been: cuddling by the water with her cute boyfriend, letting him get to second base for the first time, trading soft kisses. It feels lovely for a moment, but she can never truly get that time back, and Betty closes her eyes again.

 

“You playing with Lucy and Alex,” she lies, unable to look at him while she talks about this. He's staring at her; she can feel the intensity of his gaze on the side of her face. It feels like a sunburn.

 

Jughead does respond eventually. His voice is quieter than she expected. “I never thought it'd be in the cards for me,” he explains, moving his hand from her chest to her hair.

 

His face is very close to hers now. Betty opens her eyes so she can see into his, but they’re unreadable. “Oh?”

 

His fingers thread through her hair and tug her ponytail loose. “Some people, you just know they'd be great parents. Like you. You're going to be an incredible mom, with the way you look after people, and how deeply you love them. Your kids will be so lucky.”

 

Betty’s chest floods with warmth, and she reaches a hand up to touch his face. “So will yours. If you want them, I mean.”

 

Jughead’s blue eyes bore into hers for a long moment, then he sits up and looks out at the water again, arms resting on his knees. “Maybe,” he finally replies. “I don’t know if I'd be any good at it.”

 

Betty wants to sit up beside him. Her instincts are telling her to put a hand on his back, that he needs reassurance and comfort, but her mind won’t let her body move to do so.

 

(Because she's the one with the pregnancy test in her purse and the uncertainty in her stomach, and he’s the one that won’t give her an answer.)

 

So she continues to lay on her back and stare at the sky, marveling briefly at the purple-ish blend of colours that comes when a few stray tears blur her vision.

 

\--

 

It’s around nine-fifteen when they get back to New York, and nearly ten by the time they’ve gone to grab Caramel from Archie and Veronica’s and made their way back to Brooklyn. Betty is exhausted from the whirlwind trip, from the stress of dealing with her parents and their friends, from her prolonged run this morning, and most prominently from the ticking time bomb in her purse.

 

It’s just a little piece of plastic, but once they get inside Betty’s going to pee on it and it might change their lives forever. Her stomach churns, but like all the other symptoms she’s felt over the last few days, she can’t tell if they’re imagined or real.

 

“You look tired, babe,” Jughead says, holding Caramel’s kennel in one hand and his bag in the other as they approach the apartment building.

 

Betty shrugs, because it’s always her first instinct to brush off any concern, but then she catches his eyes and can see the worry behind them. So she nods a little and readjusts her overnight bag on her shoulder. “I didn’t sleep great last night,” she says by way of explanation, which is at least partially the truth.

 

They reach the doors to the building, and Jughead sets Caramel’s kennel down for a moment so that he can get his keys out. “Well, when we get in I’ll get a bath ready for you. That always helps you sleep.”

 

The smile he flashes her is so genuine and precious that it hurts her heart. Betty can only hope that when he finds out what’s really going on, he’ll still want to look at her that way instead of bolting in another panic. “Maybe,” she allows, picking up Caramel once he’s gotten the door open.

 

It almost shuts when somebody calls his name. “Jughead Jones!”

 

Betty stops and turns to look at who had spoken. It’s a girl, probably around eighteen or nineteen years old, dressed nearly all in black with a messenger bag slung across her chest. Betty doesn’t recognize her, so she glances back at Jughead for his reaction. It’s probably somebody he works with, she thinks, or maybe someone he knows from school.

 

His face is blank at first, so Betty figures maybe this girl is confused or has the wrong person or perhaps he’s been in his university’s paper and she has recognized him from that. The last thing she expects is for his brow to furrow and his jaw to unhinge slightly, or for his duffel bag to fall from his hands and plop unceremoniously onto the concrete outside their apartment vestibule. His blue eyes fill with shock - the same blue eyes, Betty realizes in a sudden whipping moment, as this mystery girl has.

 

He speaks, his voice weak and wispy in the cool night air. “Jellybean?”

  


\--

  
  



	2. two

_ And maybe that’s all a ghost is, in the end. Regret, grown legs, gone walking. _

  * Nicole Kornher-Stace



  
  


Jughead can remember her clearly. She had a bright smile, curious light blue eyes, and wild hair that was so dark it was nearly black. 

 

He hasn’t actually seen his sister in person since she was around two years old and not even fully out of diapers. Jughead remembers the day he last saw her. He was eight and a half years old, it was a Wednesday night, and his mother was tucking him into bed. It was later than an eight-year-old’s bedtime probably should’ve been, but there had always been some extra leeway on that at the Jones household. Sometimes, nobody was there at all, and then he could put himself to bed whenever he wanted. As an eight-year-old, he’d loved this; as a teenager, he’d come to resent it, knowing full well where his father was and who - or rather, what - he’d chosen instead.

 

But on that last night, his parents had been home. Jughead distinctly remembers being excited about his mom putting him to bed. Because it didn’t happen all the time, it always made him feel special, like he was finally being picked first. She’d come in, pulled the covers up over his shoulders, and had leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead - just like she did any time that he was lucky enough to get tucked in. The only thing different about this particular occasion was the intrusion of his baby sister, who had apparently escaped her crib somehow. Jughead remembers how Jellybean had come barrelling into his room and hopped on his bed, he remembers the way she’d giggled as their mother carted her away, flicking his bedroom lights off as she went, and he remembers the ratty hand-me-down teddy bear that he’d found on the floor of his sister’s bedroom the next morning. Tattered and dirty, it had been forgotten when his mother had cut and run in the night.

 

Just like him.

 

Afterward, he spoke to his mother on the phone for a little while. Sometimes, Jellybean was in the background, shrieking and giggling, but usually it was just quiet. She was always at daycare, or she was with grandma, or she was at a playdate. He never was allowed to speak to her. But pretty soon, he didn’t speak to his mother either, and after about a year and a half, the calls stopped coming. A couple of years after that, the birthday cards stopped too, and by the time he was a teenager he’d completely lost contact with his mother and sister.

 

But now it’s sixteen years later, and that little sister is standing here in front of his apartment building in Brooklyn, New York. She’s just another person among the twenty or so million people that occupy the metropolitan NYC area. If she hadn’t called his name, his eyes would’ve slid past her without a second thought. But she had, and so they hadn’t, and now she’s here.

 

Jughead’s first reaction is numbness. He’s pretty sure he says her name, but the shock is overwhelming, so there’s a small chance that he imagined it.

 

At least until Jellybean replies. “Yeah, Jughead, it’s me,” she says, taking a step toward him. “I’m sorry to just show up like this. I - I wasn’t sure if you’d take my phone call. I wasn’t even sure if you actually lived here, I’ve been trying to come around for the last couple of days, but there was no answer.”

 

Jughead is silent, not knowing really what to say. Betty places a hand on his forearm and he almost jumps, having forgotten even that she was there. She squeezes gently and then smiles at Jellybean politely. “We were out of town.” She extends her hand to the girl - his fucking  _ sister -  _ and adds, “Hi, I’m Betty, I’m Jughead’s girlfriend. And this is Caramel.” She lifts the cat’s kennel and turns to face the wire door toward Jellybean. “It’s getting dark out. How about we all go inside, and I’ll make some iced tea.”

 

Betty’s going to make iced tea, he thinks dully. They’re going to have iced tea and he’s going to sit down and talk to  _ his sister.  _ This feels like a dream and a nightmare and a bad reality show all rolled into one. Betty takes the keys from his hand and opens the door to the building again, then holds the door for Jellybean to step through. He follows her into the building and spends the elevator ride staring at Betty’s feet. Her toes are painted a pretty pink colour, like bubble gum and paper hearts. It suits her, he thinks, nearly as much as it doesn’t.

 

Once they get to their floor, Jughead follows Betty and Jellybean into the apartment. Betty sets Caramel’s kennel down and opens the door; immediately, their orange cat darts out of the carrier and into the bedroom. “She probably went under the bed,” he says aloud. It’s her favourite to go when there guests over and she’s nervous; tonight, Jughead wants to join her. 

 

He almost trips over his duffel bag on his way into the kitchen, and it’s only then that he realizes Betty must have carried it up with her bag  _ and  _ the cat. He’s such a fucking idiot, he thinks, and opens his mouth to vocalize it to Betty.

 

What comes out is a half of an apology and half an offering of thanks, distracted but earnest. “Thanks for bringing my bag up,” Jughead says, catching Betty’s wrist and tugging her toward him.

 

Betty smiles at him, her familiar dismissal of praise or thanks. “Why don’t you and Jellybean go sit in the living room, and I’ll bring iced tea right away,” she suggests to both of them. Jellybean nods and quietly walks out of sight, and almost immediately Jughead’s head is cradled in Betty’s hands. She forces his face toward hers and locks their eyes as she stares intently. “It’s going to be okay, Juggie,” she whispers. “Try to keep an open mind. And remember she’s just as scared as you right now. Maybe more.”

 

Her green eyes are so full of intense honesty, he can’t help but listen. She’s right, too: Jughead has incredibly mixed feelings about his mother, but he knows that anything that happened isn’t Jellybean’s fault. She was just a baby, no more in control of things than he was. At the same time, sixteen years have passed. They’re strangers, connected by little more than DNA. They owe each other nothing.

 

Still, Betty’s words hang in his head, and Jughead slips out of the kitchen. He walks into the living room and sits down in the armchair near Jellybean. “So, you’re still using Jellybean?” he asks.

 

Jellybean shrugs, her dark hair falling into her eyes. “I usually go by JB,” she confesses. “Forsythia is a stupid name, and I never got any better nicknames.”

 

That makes him smile; he knows that feeling well. It’s juvenile to still be using his childhood nickname - especially one as dumb as  _ Jughead -  _ but it’s the only name he’s ever really had. “Yeah. Same thing over here, basically.”

 

Betty comes in carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and three glasses. She has a welcoming smile on her face but once she sets the tray down Jughead can see her right hand twitching to curl inward. Nobody is perfect all the way down.

 

“So, Jellybean, are you - do you live in New York?” Betty asks, pouring liquid into the glasses and distributing them.

 

Jellybean accepts the drink that Betty offers. “Thanks. And uh, no. I’m actually just about to start college in Columbus. Ohio State,” she adds to Jughead with a small smile. Her eyes betray her true level of excitement, and he almost wants to smile back. “I’m just in town on a trip with a friend, whose cousins live here. They invited us to visit and we figured it would be a fun thing to do before starting college.”

 

“That’s nice. Let us know if you need any recommendations!” Betty looks at Jughead. The look on her face is plain and means  _ say something,  _ so he swallows his shock and does just that.

 

“Can I ask - how did you know that we - uh--” Jughead stops, struggling with how to properly phrase the question. In the end, he gives up on decorum. It’s never done much for him anyway. “Why are you here, Jellybean?”

 

To her credit, she doesn’t look offended. Jellybean sighs and stares down at her crossed legs. “I’ve been trying to find you for  _ years,  _ Jughead,” she confesses. Her ears are turning pink, as though it’s something to be embarrassed about, like wanting to know her family was shameful somehow. “You don’t have much of an online presence, or if you do, it’s hidden well.”

 

Jughead stares at the curtain of hair blocking her face. “Yeah, I don’t have a Facebook or anything.”

 

“Anyway, I had sort of given up. There wasn’t much more I could do. Mom wasn’t helpful and you guys didn’t live upstate anymore and the city is pretty fucking big,” Jellybean admits. “But then a couple of months ago - Dad showed up.”

 

Jughead has a sudden flash to several months prior, when his newly sober father had asked him at Betty’s coffee shop whether or not he’d heard from his mother or sister. Apparently FP’s reach extended to Ohio, too, because evidently he’d found her. “Really,” he says.

 

“Yeah, I was surprised.” Jellybean looks up finally. “I didn’t expect - anyway, but I was glad to see him. It was weird, but kind of nice.”

 

“Was he sober?” Jughead asks bluntly, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Betty.

 

Jellybean looks confused at the question. “Yeah,” she replies. 

 

A small strike of pride finds its way through the confusion into Jughead’s brain.  _ Good on you, Dad,  _ he thinks.

 

“I asked him about you. He told me you were living here and gave me your information, but I didn’t do anything with it for about a month. I wasn’t sure what to say. I still don’t know what to say.” She looks at him, a mixture of fear and hope in her eyes. “I asked him not to tell you that he found us. Don’t be mad at him.”

 

“I’m not,” Jughead says, and he isn’t, not  _ really.  _ Annoyed, yes, but in the end, his dad is the one who has to remember it all. This may be Jughead’s entire life, but at least he’s moved somewhat past it. His dad, he knows, is reliving these years over and over again, looking for the mistakes and trying to fix them.

 

He’ll be doing it forever.

 

“I don’t think just showing up was really the thing to do,” Jellybean continues, “but like I said before, I was kind of afraid you wouldn’t want to talk to me. And I get it, we don’t really - you don’t owe me anything,” she says, echoing Jughead’s own thoughts from earlier. “But I’ve been thinking of you everyday for years, wondering about my big brother, and what you’re like and who you are and what you’re doing, and now that I’m an adult Mom can’t stop--”

 

“Don’t mention her,” Jughead interrupts, a bit harsher than he’d intended. Jellybean looks taken aback, and he hastens to add, “Sorry. I just don’t want to talk about her. She doesn’t get any space in my head. She hasn’t earned it.”

 

Jellybean looks at him for a long moment with heartbroken eyes, but she nods. “I understand,” she says softly. “I won’t mention her.”

 

He breaks his gaze and looks over at Betty again. She looks distracted, but her hand isn’t curled anymore and that’s as good as he can ask for right now. “Thanks,” he mutters.

 

At this point, there’s an awkward minute-long silence. Jughead imagines that the onus is on him as the ranking adult in the room to spur the conversation forward, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth or to move from his chair. He just can’t get past this: he’s sitting here with his little sister. The girl that he’d assumed was lost to the ages. The little kid with the tattered teddy bear - the same teddy bear that was in a box at the top of his bedroom closet. She was  _ here,  _ in his fucking living room in Brooklyn, talking to his girlfriend and drinking iced tea. It was insane to think about.

 

Betty seems to catch onto his wavelength, because finally she speaks up. “Are you in town tomorrow, Jellybean? Maybe we could meet for coffee and talk some more then. It’s just that we’ve just gotten home and it’s been sort of a long couple of days, and as you can imagine this is - this is a lot to take in.” 

 

Jellybean nods and sets the empty iced tea glass down, then stands up. “Yeah, of course. Here, I’ll leave my phone number.”

 

“I’ll text you with a place and time,” Betty promises. “Thank you for coming by.”

 

“Thanks for letting me in,” Jellybean says, half-joking. “Um. Jughead, it was - really good, it was really good to see you.”

 

He looks up and finally smiles at her. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It was really good. I’m sorry, this is just all…” he trails off, waving his hand, and luckily she seems to understand.

 

“It is,” Jellybean nods. “I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow. Thanks again and sorry for just showing up.” With a wave, she slips through the door, and then she’s gone.

 

For a brief moment, it’s like none of this ever happened. Everything is completely normal. He’s in his nice little Brooklyn apartment with his pretty girlfriend and they’re going to unpack and go to sleep early and then she’ll wake up and go running and make breakfast and by the time he gets up there’ll be pancakes and bacon and things will be  _ perfect  _ like always. 

 

Then Betty clicks the lock shut, turns around, and looks at him with concern in her big doe eyes. “Juggie,” she says softly, “are you okay?”

 

Jughead stares at the powered-off TV, wondering if he’s always been able to see his reflection in the blank screen or if this is a new development. He realizes he’s still wearing his hat and tugs it off, letting it drop to the floor. “Yeah,” he says, leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes. “I think so.”

 

The cushion beside him depresses slightly, and a delicate hand is placed on his thigh. He reaches out and puts a hand on top of hers. She turns hers, threads their fingers, and squeezes his hand. “Is there anything I can do?” she asks gently.

 

Jughead lifts his head from the back of the couch and opens his eyes. “Not really,” he answers, shaking his head slightly. He looks at Betty and smiles a little. “Thanks for being so - so you,” he adds, unable to properly articulate his appreciation. He has no idea what he did before Betty came into his life.

 

She dismisses his thanks with an ever-so-slight shake of her head and rubs her thumb over his hand. “I just want you to be okay,” Betty says quietly, lifting her other hand to push an errant lock of hair out of his eyes. “If you don’t want to talk to her tomorrow, just say the word and I’ll take care of it. I’ll let her down easy.”

 

Jughead opens his mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a small huff of air. Betty Cooper: girlfriend extraordinaire. She’d had a tough couple of days; Jughead knows that she’d been dreading visiting her parents, and despite his best efforts Betty had seemed distracted all throughout the time they’d spent at her parents. Just before his sister had shown up, he’d been promising to run her a bath and let her relax - but here she is, taking care of him instead.

 

He wonders briefly if she knows just how much better than him she could do, and hopes that she never realizes it.

 

Instead of replying to her, Jughead reaches out and grabs Betty’s face in his hands. He tugs her toward him and presses a soft kiss to her mouth. She relaxes into him and returns the kiss, sliding her hand up his chest to his shoulder. They kiss lazily for a few minutes, and when Jughead breaks the kiss for air he pulls her into his chest. “I love you, Betty,” he tells her, stroking his thumb against her neck. “So much.”

 

She nuzzles her cheek into his shirt a little. “I love you too, Juggie,” she sighs, sliding her arms around his waist. “If you want we can just sit here for awhile.”

 

“That actually sounds nice right now,” Jughead admits.

 

Betty sits up, unravels her arms from him, and shuffles over a little so there’s a foot of space between them. He quirks an eyebrow at her, sort of confused. She smiles a little at his expression and pats the middle of her thighs, and then he understands.

 

Jughead gives her a grateful smile and then lays down on his side, resting his head on her lap. Betty flicks the TV on, picking up where they’d left off on  _ Parks and Recreation.  _ They watch in silence for awhile. Jughead lets himself get lost in the adventures of Leslie Knope, and it turns out to be all what he needs - mindless entertainment, fun and good-spirited.

 

At some point in the second episode, Betty slides her fingers into his hair and her nails begin to scratch lightly at his scalp. It feels amazing; his eyes flutter shut, and Jughead realizes that maybe all he actually needs is Betty.

 

\--

 

Jughead wakes up twice the next morning.

 

The first time, it’s 7:30, and Betty is getting dressed after her run. Jughead is half-awake, but he opens his eyes enough to watch her pull on khaki shorts and a pink tank top. He wolf-whistles sleepily at her, and she comes over to the bed and cradles his head in her arms. This is one of his favourite parts of the day; it’s become a bit of a tradition, at least on weekends when she has to work early and he doesn’t have to be up until later.

 

“I told Jellybean you’d meet her at ten,” Betty says, stroking his hair. “My coffee shop. Gives you an easy out after a little bit so you can go to work, and if something happens I can intervene if you need.”

 

Jughead closes his eyes and burrows his face in her chest. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Thanks, Betts.”

 

Her lips press on his head. “Love you. Get some more sleep,” she says.

 

He obeys, rolling over immediately once she’s gone, and the next time he wakes it’s 9:30. He finds this out by grabbing his phone, tilting it to look at the screen, and then dropping it and his face into the pillow with a groan. “Fuck,” he mumbles, pushing the covers back. He’s going to be late. Jughead sends a text to Betty to let her know, then goes to the bathroom for an uber-quick three-minute shower. He tugs his beanie over his wet hair, throws on yesterday’s jeans and a shirt, and then shoves his feet into his favourite boots and leaves. 

 

He has to run three blocks, but Jughead makes it to the coffee shop with two minutes to spare. Jellybean is already waiting, sitting at a table by the window. She has a latte in front of her and looks up when he enters, a hopeful smile on her face. Jughead lifts a hand in greeting, then motions to her that he’s going to grab a coffee first. 

 

Betty has a cup of hot black coffee waiting for him when he approaches. “Oh look, it’s my favourite regular,” she says, winking at him as she leans across the counter.

 

Jughead knows that she’s trying purposely to be cute to distract him from the impending awkwardness of coffee with his sister, and it’s working. “I bet you say that to all the guys,” he says, figuring he might as well run with it. He pecks her lips.

 

“Only the cute hipsters in plaid,” she teases, “but there are more of those in Brooklyn than you’d think.” Betty flicks her eyes over to Jellybean’s table and lowers her voice. “She showed up twenty minutes early. She seems excited.”

 

He bites the inside of his cheek and nods down at his coffee. “That’s nice,” he says, meaning it. He taps the side of the mug. “Thanks babe.” He smiles at Betty, noticing briefly that her eyes are a bit puffier than usual. Jughead is hit with the reminder of her prior exhaustion and swallows the lump of guilt in his throat. As he steps away from the counter and heads over toward Jellybean, he tries to think of ways to make this up to Betty. Maybe he could make her dinner for a change, or give her a massage--

 

“Hi Jughead.”

 

The coffee shop is not large, and he’s already reached Jellybean’s table. She’s wearing jean shorts and a black t-shirt and has her sweep of dark hair pulled up into a messy bun. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to hug her or something, so to avoid the dilemma he sits down quickly. “Hey.” 

 

Jellybean smiles somewhat shyly at him. She nods over toward Betty. “She’s super nice. She didn’t even charge me for this latte.”

 

_ Of course she didn’t.  _ Jughead glances over to where Betty is whipping up some kind of over-caffeinated monstrosity as she chats animatedly to a customer. He smiles despite his nervousness, but it’s always easy to smile about Betty. “She is,” he agrees.

 

“You guys are really cute.” 

 

He looks at Jellybean. She’s chewing on her lower lip, but her eyes are honest. He takes a short breath and then chuckles a little as he exhales, nodding. “I guess we are.”

 

“Have you guys been together long?” Jellybean asks.

 

Jughead rubs the back of his neck. “Uhhh - since last December. Feels longer, though.” He realizes that she’s asking all the questions and tries to think of something to ask her that doesn’t relate to his mother. “What are you going to take in school?”

 

Jellybean perks up a little at the question, clearly not expecting it. “Officially undeclared, and probably it’ll change after I actually start classes, but I was thinking a mathematics degree. Gives me lots of options for graduate school. What are you - or what did you take?”

 

“I have a journalism degree and I’m in the middle of getting my Masters right now. Non-fiction writing.” Jughead takes a sip of his coffee and glances out the window. There are people walking by, acting normally, and  _ god, that’s weird,  _ he thinks. There are people out there who are just going about their day,  _ not  _ having sixteen-years-delayed conversations with their long-lost siblings. Then suddenly he realizes that every other day, when  _ he’s  _ going about his normal routine, there’s somebody out there having this kind of life-altering day. The concept hits him hard in the chest, and he exhales to clear the tension before looking back at his sister.

 

“Wow, that’s really cool,” Jellybean says earnestly, leaning forward a little over the table. “So you want to be a writer.”

 

“Yeah.” Jughead nods. “Truman Capote is the pipe dream, but I’ll settle for Peter Matthiessen.” 

 

Jellybean snorts. “You’re going to join the CIA?”

 

He raises his eyebrows, not having really expected her to pick up on either reference. Her eyes are twinkling, though, and Jughead find himself wanting to rise to that challenge. “Okay, maybe without the CIA part.”

 

“Funny.” Jellybean sips her latte and shrugs. “That’s exactly what someone in the CIA would say.”

 

Jughead laughs and nods. “Touche.” He turns his head to the side for a second and catches Betty’s eye. She flashes him an encouraging smile; he returns it and then looks back at his sister. She’s just a kid, really - obviously older than he remembers her being, but a kid nonetheless. She’s come to New York to meet him, putting herself out there in a major way. The least he can do is return a little of that spirit. After all, he’s supposed to be an adult, regardless of how little he actually feels like one. “So … uh … Dad.”

 

Her eyes dart to his. “What about him?”

 

“What did you guys do when he found you?”

 

Jellybean leans back in her chair and bends her knee, pressing her heel on the chair. “We basically did this,” she chuckles, gesturing to the table with her hand. “Coffee. Mom didn’t really want - sorry,” she says, stopping herself. “I forgot you didn’t - I won’t mention her again.”

 

She’s picking at her nails now, a look of nervousness on her face. Jughead sighs, feeling guilty, and drums his fingers on the table. “Jellybean, I don’t know what Mom told you about Dad. I can only imagine the things. And she’s probably right, you know. Dad isn’t exactly an angel.”

 

“She’s not either,” Jellybean cuts in quietly.

 

That makes him swallow and drop his eyes to the table. “Yeah, I bet.” He sighs heavily and briefly considers abandoning this line of conversation before concluding that  _ no,  _ he should say it. “Look, Dad is an alcoholic. I think probably you knew that. Or if you didn’t - well, he is. He’s been sober for a few months now. It’s not the first time he’s been sober, but this time he’s really trying, I think. It feels different, anyway.” 

 

It’s weird, Jughead thinks. He will always be the first in line to doubt his father, to keep him at a distance, to be wary of his actions even if his intentions seem pure. The life that he’s led with FP Jones and the things that he’s gone through because of him are lesson enough for that. He’s never felt like defending him before, but now that JB is here and talking about him, Jughead has a sudden overwhelming loyalty to his father that catches him off guard. He’s as far from perfect as Jughead can reasonably imagine, but he’s not the one that left his son behind.

 

Jughead’s knuckles tighten on his coffee mug and he stares at the small pool of liquid in the bottom for strength before continuing. “I’m in touch with him pretty regularly, but he doesn’t live in the city so I don’t see him in person all the time. He’s fucked up a lot, I’m not going to lie. He was a pretty shitty father. I didn’t even live with him after I was thirteen. I don’t spend holidays with him. He’s only met Betty a couple of times, even. But he means well. He always means well. Sometimes his execution is just a little off. I guess what I’m saying - keep your mind open about him.”

 

Jellybean’s eyes are trained on her latte, focusing hard. There’s a twitch in her jaw as she clearly tries to repress a response. She fails a moment later, and blurts out, “It’s not all her fault, you know.”

 

Jughead catches her eye, noting the hard glint in his gaze, and realizes that the same sense of loyalty he has to his father, Jellybean has to their mother. She’s the only parent that Jellybean has ever known. She wouldn’t even remember FP, he realizes, he’s just a stranger. “It’s not,” he agrees. “They both gave up. I’m just saying. What happened with her and him has nothing to do with  _ you  _ and him. You probably don’t even remember him. Do you?”

 

She shakes her head silently, her trembling lower lip drawing into her mouth.

 

There’s a stray drop of coffee on the table, a tiny pool of brown liquid. It’s already started to dry around the edges. “I remember her.”

 

Jellybean doesn’t respond. After at least two minutes of silence, Jughead finally manages to lift his head to look at her. She’s staring at the window and swiping compulsively beneath her eyes; every now and then, her fingers catch a tear before it can fall. He wonders what she’s thinking about.

 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with us either,” he says suddenly.

 

Jellybean turns her head back to him. “What?” she asks, sniffing.

 

“What happened with her and him. It doesn’t have anything to do with you and him, like I said. But … it also doesn’t have anything to do with you and me.” Jughead shrugs slightly. “I need to work on remembering that, too.”

 

Jellybean exhales, tension leaving her shoulders, and smiles slowly. “What’s your favourite band, Jughead?”

 

They talk for another hour. Betty brings them both a refill halfway through and stops to chat with them for a couple of minutes, but for the most part it’s just her and him. The Jones siblings. It’s not perfect - there are some awkward silences and some verbal missteps - but it’s actually  _ fun,  _ kind of, to talk to Jellybean. It’s like he’s replacing an image he’d built up with the real thing, and for once this isn’t a disappointment. It turns out they’re both into Radiohead, both hate John Grisham, and both love  _ Game of Thrones.  _ When he has to leave to go to work, Jughead finds himself actually wishing they could talk longer.

 

Before she leaves, they exchange phone numbers. Jellybean asks nervously if they can keep in touch; Jughead agrees, warning her that he’s not a great texter but that he’s just a phone call away if she needs anything. They part with the promise to not let another sixteen years of silence go by, and Jughead hopes sincerely that they can both keep it.

 

\--

 

His boots are heavy on the pavement. Their distinctive steps are somewhat out of place with all of the sandals and Birkenstocks that summer has brought out of the closet, but Jughead thinks it’s sort of fitting - because so is he. His thumb swipes across the front of his phone and then downward as he scrolls through his contacts, looking for one number in particular. He finds it, clicks  _ call,  _ and stares at the ‘don’t walk’ light in front of him as he waits for his father to pick up.

 

FP picks up after few rings, his voice gruff through the phone. “Hello?” 

 

“Thanks for telling me about Jellybean,” Jughead says by way of greeting.

 

There’s a sigh from the other end. “She asked me not to.”

 

“She said as much.” Jughead shifts his phone to his other ear and begins to walk when the light changes. “Still.”

 

“I’m sorry, kid,” FP responds. “She seemed genuinely interested in talking to you. I figure that Gladys and I fucked up enough with both of you - I get it if neither of you wants anything to do with me. Or with her, for that matter. But that shouldn’t impact you and Jellybean knowing each other.”

 

Jughead smiles despite his annoyance, recognizing the echo of his own words, but says nothing.

 

“Look, Jug, I know she was just a baby when your mom - when they left. But you guys were inseparable. You adored your little sister.”

 

“I remember.” Jughead sighs. “We had a good conversation. She showed up and we had coffee this morning. It was nice. But Dad, promise me something.”

 

His father clears his throat, and between that and the tinny connection, he sounds far away. “Okay.”

 

“Never -  _ never -  _ tell Mom where I live. And if you find out that she’s coming to see me or going to show up, and you don’t give me a heads up, this is done. I will never speak to you again.”

 

FP sounds firmer this time, his voice a little stronger than before. “You have my word, Jughead.”

 

Jughead exhales his relief and stops at the top of the stairs to the subway. “Thanks, Dad. Look, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you Sunday again?”

 

“Sounds good. Love you, kid.”

 

“Bye,” Jughead says, hanging up quickly before he has to return the sentiment. He does, probably, but he can’t vocalize that to his father now. Not yet. He swallows, shoves his phone in his pocket, and thunders down the concrete steps to catch the train.

 

He gets home about half an hour later, his return delayed slightly by a group of toddlers from a daycare trying to cross the street near his apartment. They’re all strung together by their hands, a seemingly neverending chain of giggles and smiles, and they remind him hopelessly of Jellybean.

 

Betty is in the kitchen when he enters the apartment, hovering over the counter. The smell of baked lasagna fills his nostrils, and he almost moans at the thought of it. He can barely remember how just over a year ago, he used to eat microwaved pizza for dinner with Archie instead of the delicious gourmet meals he’s now accustomed to.

 

“Smells good, Betts,” he tells her, hearing a quiet murmur of thanks back. “I’m just going to go wash up.”

 

Jughead slips into the bathroom and uses the facilities. He washes his hands and goes to dry them, but in the process he accidentally knocks the plastic bottle of soap off of the small counter. He swears under his breath and leans over to pick it up off the ground. In the process, his foot hits the garbage can, and it too goes rolling onto its side.

 

“I am a fucking mess,” he says to himself, vowing to get more sleep tonight. Jughead squats down and sweeps the trash back into the can. It’s mostly kleenex and toilet paper wrappers, but as he starts shoveling stuff back in he notices that there’s something unfamiliar stuck in the bottom of the garbage can. He squints closer, trying to read the side of the cardboard, and the bottom of his stomach drops out when he realizes what it is: the empty box for a pregnancy test.

 

\--

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I really appreciate the response to this! If you could leave me a comment I would love you even more!


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe you guys love this universe so much. I am overwhelmed by the love :)

_I stand alone, and I fight alone,  
_ _And I stay clean by feeling cheap;  
_ _Baby there ain’t enough room in this world  
_ _For perfections like you and monsters like me_

  * Matthew Good, “The Fine Art of Falling Apart”



  


Betty gets off work an hour after Jughead’s short weekend shift at the library begins. Usually, when they work opposing shifts, Betty takes the time to clean the apartment or go grocery shopping or something like that, but today she has exactly one task in mind.

 

Today, she’ll find out if she’s pregnant.

 

Yesterday was supposed to be the day. She was going to go inside and take the test and for better or for worse she would _know,_ but then Jughead’s little sister had shown up and any semblance of plans had gone out the window. She’d sat with him on the couch until he’d fallen asleep, then had guided him to the bedroom around 2:00 am. Jughead had crawled into bed, tugging her closely behind him. He’d needed her, physically and otherwise, and Betty had let him pour his emotions out into her skin before she spent another sleepless night with his head on her chest.

 

She can’t take another night of not knowing.

 

So she leaves the coffee shop, purse slung across her torso, and walks the long way home. Betty stops to pick up a fresh bouquet of flowers for the windowsill and a new potted plant for the fire escape. Right now, she has Schrodinger’s uterus: both pregnant and not pregnant. There's something strangely calming about not knowing now that the answer is imminent.

 

Caramel greets her at the door when Betty gets home and immediately wraps herself around her ankles. Betty drops her keys on the counter and leans down to pet her. She smiles at the dull purr that comes from the young cat, then stands up and swallows the anxious lump in her throat. It's time.

 

Betty takes the pregnancy test from her purse and locks herself in the bathroom with it. She reads the instructions carefully - pee on the end for ten seconds, put it on the counter, wait for your life to change. She takes a deep breath and pees, then leaves the test in the bathroom and goes to the bedroom that she doesn't sleep in.

 

She'd officially moved into Jughead's room three months prior when he’d been gone to Paris. Sleeping in his bed had seemed like the next best thing to actually having Jughead home with her. When he'd returned, she'd stayed too, but she still hasn't moved her clothes over from the other closet.

 

While she's waiting, Betty changes from the shorts and tank top she wore under her work apron into a pair of running shorts and a thin-strapped tank top. She stares at her chest in the mirror for a moment; did it seem bigger? And if so, was it because of her impending period or because of her impending offspring?

 

Two minutes pass. Caramel follows Betty into the bathroom and hops on her lap when she sinks onto the closed toilet lid, staring at the one faint line in the indicator window.

 

Not pregnant.

 

For a few moments, Betty feels pure nothingness. Her heart and mind are completely empty. Then she exhales, having been unaware that she was even holding her breath to begin with, and a sinking feeling takes hold in her stomach. After a confused minute, Betty realizes that the growing pit is sadness. She's both disappointed and relieved, and the combination of the two feelings is overwhelming despite how terrifying the alternative result would have been. Then, she can feel the telltale pinch in her chest that signals the rise of her anxiety. Betty needs a distraction.

 

She goes to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of white wine, then climbs out the window with it and sits on the fire escape across from her new potted plant. She unlocks her cell phone and calls Veronica, hoping that her friend is home.

 

“Veronica Lodge,” comes the prim greeting.

 

“V? It's Betty.”

 

Veronica laughs. “Yeah I have caller ID. Just testing out a new answering thing. Do I sound professional? Like someone you'd hire to plan an event?”

 

“Uhh, sure.” Betty leans her head against the cool brick at her back. “Do you have a minute? I need - I just need to talk to someone.”

 

“Just a sec.” There's rustling on the other end, then some of the background noise she'd heard before disappears. “Okay. I'm set, B. What's up?”

 

Betty doesn't know where to start, or even what to say. It feels sort of disrespectful to talk about the test without telling Jughead first, but he's not here and she isn't going to ambush him at work to give him non-news. So instead, she says, “Jughead's little sister showed up at our apartment last night.”

 

“Shut the fuck up.” Veronica gasps dramatically. “His long-lost sister? Jesus, how long had that been, fifteen years?”

 

“Sixteen,” Betty says. “I think - it actually seemed to go okay. He was really quiet last night, didn't talk a lot before bed. But they met again this morning and I think got along decently.”

 

Veronica is uncharacteristically quiet. “That sounds good,” she comments. “What's the problem?”

 

“You know how he is,” Betty sighs, scratching at her knee. “I'm just worried about him. How he … y’know, reacts sometimes.”

 

“Hmm.” Veronica’s voice sounds somewhat restricted. “Betty?”

 

She downs half her glass of wine. “Mhm.”

 

“Why don't you tell me what really going on.”

 

Betty sighs. Either Veronica is more perceptive than she gives her credit for, or Betty herself is terrible at lying. Or both.

 

(Definitely both.)

 

“V, you have to promise me you won't say anything to anyone. Even Archie.” Betty sets her wine down and brings a hand up to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I mean seriously.”

 

Veronica scoffs. “I feel like I should be mildly offended by your insistence, but I'll let it go for now. Yes, I promise. Now spill.”

 

Betty takes a deep breath in, fighting a tremble in her chest. “I just took a pregnancy test.”

 

The screech on the other end of the phone is so loud that Betty has to physically tilt it away from her ear momentarily. _“What?!”_

 

“I'm not pregnant,” she says quickly. “It was negative. I should feel relieved, right? So why am I still freaking out?”

 

“Oh, B,” Veronica says sympathetically. “Is Jughead with you?”

 

At that, Betty lets out a short mirthless laugh, sharp and hacking in tone. “I can't tell him!” she insists, her voice raising an octave. “I mean. Okay.” She inhales and exhales quickly, the air exiting her mouth in a dense _whoosh._ “I know I should. We haven't really ever talked about what would happen if - this, I guess. But V, every time I try to think of what I'd say to him, I just see that door closing and him running out like before.” She takes a shaky breath in. “I can't. So no, he’s not with me.”

 

“Betty-”

 

“I almost did last night,” she continues, the words tumbling out like an avalanche. “I was gonna take the test and tell him, or tell him then take the test together, but we got home and Jellybean was here. And that's another reason I can't say anything - he's already going through something major with that. He doesn't need more of my stupid problems.”

 

Veronica makes some kind of strangled growling noise over the phone. “Jesus Christ, Betty. You potentially being pregnant with his kid - negative test or not - is not a stupid problem. And last I checked, making babies required both ova _and_ sperm. If you were pregnant, you wouldn't have gotten that way on your own. Jughead needs to know.”

 

She's right, logically, but Betty knew all of this before calling her. Of course he should know. Of course they should talk about this. But knowing and doing are two separate things, kept far apart in the actionable section of Betty's mind. She downs the rest of her wine and wishes she’d brought the bottle out with her. “I’m just so scared to,” she finally confesses.

 

“Jughead loves you,” Veronica tells her gently. Her voice sounds like a hug, soft and velvety. “Even if he freaks out a little, he’s going to stick around. Archie was just saying the other day how crazy it was to see Jughead this way, that he’s so over the moon for you and he’s never seen him like this, ever. That’s all for _you,_ B. Nothing can drive him away.”

 

Betty nods slowly, eyes closed. She opens them and sees the people passing below her, then realizes that silent body language would be lost on Veronica on the phone. So she speaks, light and airy. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay. Thanks for talking me off the ledge, V.”

 

“Call me later and tell me everything. Love you.”

 

“Will do.” Betty hangs up, puts her phone back in her pocket, and tilts her head to stare at the sky instead of the street. It’s blue and sort of blurry with the smoky haze from dull pollution and humidity that she’s come to associate with New York. She’s come to really appreciate New York since moving here, but the oppressive concrete heat is still a difficult adjustment.

 

Logically, Betty knows that Veronica, whose words so strongly echo Polly’s from two days earlier, is right. She also knows that if she does it properly, there’s a good chance that she’ll be able to appeal to Jughead’s innate protectiveness and love for her rather than his instinct to bolt when the delicate balance of his life is thrown off. She doesn’t want this to be some kind of secret that hangs over her head - Betty’s had enough of those in her life, and now that she’s with somebody who has accepted those parts of her, she doesn’t ever want to go back into hiding.

 

But today - today is not the time, she thinks. Not with Jellybean, and Jughead’s obvious tension over her showing up. The last thing that he needs is her dropping this bomb on him right now. Jughead has absorbed a lot of negative energy for her in the year that she’s known him - hell, sometimes it seems like all she has to give is negative energy - and Betty wants to make things easier for him, not harder. She can deal with it for now. Maybe telling him can wait until next week.

 

Betty grabs her empty wine glass and twists her body backward so she can slip through the window into the living room. She goes to the kitchen, washes her glass, and begins pulling out the ingredients to make fresh lasagna. She’s going to solve this the Cooper way: aggressive normalcy.

 

\--

 

Cooking has always helped Betty to manage her anxiety. It’s one of her preferred coping methods, below running but way above hurting herself, and has the added benefit of making Jughead happy. The way to a man’s heart was definitely through his stomach, especially in Jughead’s case. It’s almost too simple: anytime that he’s even moderately grumpy, all Betty has to do is grab him a bag of chips or hand him a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie, and his mood instantly brightens. She’s never met anyone in her life whose happiness is so susceptible to the influence of food as Jughead’s is.

 

Betty is hoping that all of that holds true today. Jughead’s had such a crazy couple of days with his sister that all she wants is for him to have a nice dinner and a relaxing evening. If he wants to talk about it, she’s here, and if he doesn’t - well, she’s still here, and hopefully their full stomachs will lead to full hearts and he can keep his head above water. He deserves the world, and it breaks Betty’s heart that he has to keep dealing with stuff like this - his dad, his sister. He needs a _break._

 

The door to the apartment opens when Betty is pulling the lasagna out of the oven. Cooking it had been a good distraction from the pee-covered stick that she has wrapped in a plastic bag and stuffed at the bottom of her purse. It had been part of the plan: she was supposed to work through her emotions while he was gone so that when he got home she could be normal and focus on giving him a good night. Instead, as soon as he steps into the apartment, the fear that she’d buried roars immediately back to the forefront of her brain.

 

Immediatley, Betty busies herself with the lasagna until she can shake the feeling. She murmurs a thanks when he compliments the smell of the lasagna, keeping her head turned away. Luckily, he has to go to the bathroom, which buys her a few minutes.

 

Betty cuts two pieces of lasagna and sets each on a plate. She leaves the rest of the lasagna to cool, placing the tray inside the microwave so that Caramel can’t get to it, and then brings the two plates to their small table. She ducks back into the kitchen and is just returning with forks and knives when Jughead walks out of the bathroom.

 

She looks up and smiles, hoping it appears normal. “Hi,” she greets, “how was…”

 

Betty’s words trail off at the sight in front of her: Jughead, in his plaid button-up and jeans, with an impossibly pale face. Betty glances down to his shaking hands and freezes when she sees what he’s holding: the empty box to her pregnancy test, the one she’d shoved into her purse to keep away from him. She’d forgotten the fucking box.

 

_Oh no. No, no, no, no._

 

A sense of dread washes over her a half-second before Jughead blinks impossibly slowly and asks, “Betty, what is this?”

 

His phrasing is misleading. Clearly, he knows what it is. He’s not blind. The real question is right there in the pinched tone of his voice and the thunder in her chest. She opens her mouth, brain racing to think of the answer that would end this quickly, but all that comes out is a strange cracking sound. Her hands find the edge of the table and then she’s lowering herself into a chair. This is when it happens, Betty thinks; even though she’s not pregnant, this is when the very idea that she could be drives him away.

 

(She’s loved him so much.)

 

Betty’s mouth closes and then opens again like a gaping fish, her lip trembling. “I was going to tell you about it, but then Jellybean showed up,” she says, horrified at the rapid rise and fall in the pitch of her voice. And then - _oh no, it’s happening._ She inhales sharply and digs her nails in her palms, trying desperately to breathe evenly, but her lungs close and her eyes shutter and then she’s failing at everything, swirling toward the dark void in the corner of her head.

 

The next thing she knows, Jughead in crouched in front of her, on his knees on the fake hardwood floor. His forearms rest on her thighs, muscles flexing as he tries to uncurl her hands from themselves. Betty’s face feels hot and tight and she knows that she’s crying; her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breathing shallow and halted. He’s saying her name over and over again, _Betty, Betty, hey, baby come on, Betty,_ and when she shuts her eyes again she thinks about that and that alone.

 

Slowly, his voice brings her out of it. He’s still talking when her eyes open. When she’s finally able to focus on him all Betty can see is how worried he looks, registering the concern that fills his stormy blue eyes and the steadiness in his touch as he holds her trembling, bloody hands.

 

“Betty.” He’s still saying her name.

 

She inhales, shaky but uninterrupted, and finally answers him. “Yeah.”

 

Jughead visibly swallows. “Are you pregnant?”

 

Betty exhales heavily and drops her head. It doesn’t even matter that her answer is no; she’s just as terrified as she thinks she’d be if she _was,_ because there’s this now too: her overreaction. She’s out of control, just like her mother and her sister, _those crazy Cooper women,_ but she can’t stop it.

 

He’s still waiting for an answer, so slowly, she shakes her head. Betty stares at a couple of drops of blood on her thigh, having fall from her hands - hands that are still wrapped in Jughead’s. She can hear his audible sigh of relief, then he asks, “When - how - when did you take the test?”

 

Betty speaks quietly, almost a whisper, like if he barely hears it then it won’t scare him as much. “I’m a week late,” she explains. Her neck is starting to get sore from staring downward but meeting his eyes is a terrifying thought so she tries to ignore the discomfort. “For the first few days I didn’t really think about it. It was only in the last three days, when we were at my parents’ and then yesterday, that I thought I might be. So I bought a test.”

 

Jughead is quiet for a long moment, then his hand reaches out and lifts Betty’s face so that she has no voice but to look at him. “Betty, you thought you were pregnant for a _week_ and you didn’t tell me?”

 

The tears start again despite her best efforts, this time silently and without as much fanfare. There’s salt on her tongue when she answers, “I was afraid to. I was scared you would take off again, like before.” His jaw drops slightly at that, mouth moving silently, and she can’t watch anymore. Betty looks away, staring at the rigid corner of their shitty kitchen table, and admits, “I’m still afraid.”

 

He’s silent for far too long. It takes all of her strength, but Betty finally manages to turn back to him. He looks like someone has slapped him across the face. “You were afraid of my reaction?”

 

Betty swallows and sniffs, pulling her hand from Jughead’s. She wipes her blood on a napkin from the table and clears the dried tears from her cheeks. “When you left before, and I didn’t know where you were - Juggie, you don’t know how awful that was. I was so worried and scared. I still have no idea where you went. And this - this is so much bigger than what that had been.” She drops the napkin on the table next to the cooling lasagna. “I was going to take the test and then tell you once I’d worked up the nerve, but Jellybean showed up and I thought I should wait until all of that is out of your head.”

 

“So that I don’t run away?” Jughead blurts, like he’d been unable to stop himself.

 

Betty hesitates. “Because you’ve been through too much already,” she answers. Then, glancing back at him, she adds in a small voice, “And because I’m scared of you leaving.”

 

As she speaks, Jughead’s face changes from pale to ashen. He looks absolutely heartbroken. He blinks hard but fails to stop a stray tear from falling. “Betty,” he begins, his voice a clogged whisper, “I--”

 

“It’s okay,” Betty says. He’s still here, but she can’t hear his denials. “I’m not pregnant.” She stands up, grabs the napkin, and walks to the kitchen to throw it out. When she comes back, he too is standing. “We can just forget this ever happened.” She takes a step toward the table, intending to sit down and force herself to eat the lasagna, but he moves quickly and suddenly he’s standing in her way.

 

“No,” Jughead says. “It’s not okay.” He reaches for her hand. “I can’t just _forget_ about the fact that the woman I love is too afraid to tell me something that could potentially change both of our lives.”

 

Betty looks away, feeling impossibly like she’s in trouble somehow.

 

“Betts. Please look at me.”

 

She blinks rapidly, takes a slow breath in through her nose, and obeys. Jughead’s eyes are flicking rapidly between hers. He’s trying to read her, but this time she doesn’t have the energy to block his attempt. She’s an open book for him to decipher; Betty is done fighting.

 

“Babe.” He still sounds throaty. “You being pregnant - god, that’s scary as hell to me. Of course. But it has to be _terrifying_ for you, the idea of it. And I just can’t - the fact that you don’t feel like you can tell me without being afraid - I fucking hate myself.”

 

Jughead’s words hit Betty straight in the heart. This is the opposite of what she wanted. “Juggie-”

 

She falls silent when Jughead shakes his head, apparently not done. He leads her over to the living room, guiding her to sit beside him on the couch, and when she does he puts one hand on her leg and the other on her shoulder. “I love you, Betty,” he says. “More than anybody or anything. More than myself. I am so, _so_ sorry.” He looks so sad it’s almost desperate, his face broken open. “I never want to be the reason that you’re crying or that you’re scared. I always want you to feel safe with me, through anything, even this. And I can’t believe how hard I failed you.”

 

Bety can’t stop herself; she hates the look on his face, this guilt that she caused, however inadvertent. She reaches out and puts a hand on his over her lap, and as soon as she touches him he pulls her swiftly into his arms. He holds her so tightly that it’s nearly painful: one hand is on the back of her head, keeping her so close to him that she might as well just be absorbed into his body, and the other is wrapped around her waist.

 

“It’s okay,” she murmurs into his neck, reaching a hand up to his hair.

 

Jughead shakes his head. “It’s not,” he says. “You have to know, Betty-”

 

“I know that you love me,” she interrupts, leaning back a little to look into his eyes. “I know that.”

 

“No,” he insists, his hand dropping from her hair to her shoulder. His thumb rubs her neck with purpose. “You have to know that if - if you _were -_ yeah, I would be terrified. But if this ever - if you were pregnant with my baby, Betty, I would be so, so happy.” He has a shocked look on his face when the words come out, like it’s his deepest secret and he can’t believe that he said it aloud.

 

This makes her start crying a little again, and she’s _done_ with tears for today. So Betty leans in and kisses him. She means for it to be soft and reassuring, but he kisses her back hard, standing and lifting her into his arms like she’s a feather. Betty has only a fleeting moment to marvel at his hidden strength before they’re in the bedroom and she’s on her back.

 

His hands are everywhere, desperate and hungry, and Betty responds in kind. As he mouths his way across her face and down her neck, Jughead’s hands slide up to her chest and tug at the neckline of her tank top until her breasts are exposed. He palms them roughly, sending Betty’s hands to his head to pull at his hair. He’s chanting _I love you, I love you_ into her neck to anchor her, and she arches her back to help him lift her top off altogether.

 

Her shorts follow, but when he slides her underwear down he freezes. Betty lifts herself on her elbows, confused and still bleary from the effect of him all over her body. She realizes what he’s looking at after a single missed beat: there’s blood on her underwear. She’s gotten her period.

 

Betty looks at it for a second and then starts laughing. “Oh my god,” she breathes, unable to believe the timing. No wonder she’s been so emotional today: _this_ was impending.

 

“Well, you’re definitely not pregnant,” Jughead observes. She glances over at him and leans in to kiss the half-smile that he’s trying to repress.

 

“Give me a second,” Betty says, hopping off the bed. She races, naked, into the bathroom, inserts a tampon, and then returns to pull on clean underwear. “I’m sorry about this.”

 

Jughead holds his hands up. “No apologies,” he says. “I mean, it’s what you were waiting for, right?”

 

Betty nods as she drops her old panties into the laundry hamper, briefly mourning the pretty lace. “It is,” she agrees. She turns to him, very aware that she’s dressed only in her underwear, and points. “You need to take your clothes off.”

 

His eyebrows shoot up. “You just got your period.”

 

She shrugs, walking slowly over to him. “There’s other stuff we can do,” she informs him, pulling at the hem of his shirt. “Arms up.”

 

There’s a flash of a smile on Jughead’s face, then a second later he lifts his arms obediently. She tugs it off, then with a flick of her thumb, his jeans are unbuttoned. He hastily pushes them down to the floor, then opens his arms for her. Betty crawls onto the bed toward him, smiling into his ear as he nuzzles at her neck.

 

“I hear orgasms are good for cramps,” he murmurs, his hand parting her legs slightly. She bites her lower lip and leans back, focusing on his scent all around her, his hands just beneath her underwear, and his lips on her chest.

 

He gets her off with his fingers, then Betty falls to her knees to return the favour. Afterward, he pulls on boxers to go to the kitchen and comes back with microwaved lasagna. They lay in bed and eat, then spend the night talking and cuddling through several more episodes of _Parks and Recreation._

 

When she finally goes to sleep, it’s with Jughead wrapped tightly around her back and his lips on the side of her neck. He’s still saying her name.

 

\--

 

The next morning, Betty wakes up to horrible cramps and a headache from yesterday’s tears. Jughead is sprawled next to her, mouth open slightly to allow his faint snores to escape. Betty kisses his cheek softly and then slips out to the bathroom for some ibuprofen. She downs a couple of pills and then goes back to the bedroom for her running clothes.

 

She decides to make it a short run, and is out and back in half an hour. She gets into the shower, feeling the tension of the last few days finally dissipating. To her surprise, Jughead is awake when she returns to the bedroom. He’s propped up against the headboard, petting a purring Caramel, and smiles when he sees her.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Betty returns the smile, somewhat suspicious. He’s never awake this early without some sort of plan. “Hey there sleepyhead. What are you doing up?”

 

Jughead shrugs, and between that and his messy bedhead, he looks adorable. “I want to take you somewhere today.”

 

Betty lifts an eyebrow and tugs on a comfy sundress that’s loose around her lower abdomen. “Where?”

 

The bedspread is thrown back, and his legs are out of the bed before he responds. “You’ll see.”

  


An hour and a half later, they’re in Manhattan, walking toward Central Park from the little cafe where they’d eaten breakfast. Jughead seems to be on a mission of sorts, stepping with more purpose than usual, so much so that Betty has to do a little skip to keep up with his long strides. They enter the park from the east side, keeping off to the side of the paths so as to not get in the way of the mid-morning joggers. He refuses to tell Betty where they’re headed, but ten minutes into the park, she gets her answer.

 

Usually they walk side-by-side in public, sometimes holding hands if Betty needs the reassurance in a large crowd, but today Jughead has his arm fully wrapped around her waist. His grip doesn’t loosen when he finally stops walking; rather, he lets his arm slide around so that he can face her, and grips her hip with his other hand like he’s afraid she’ll float away.

 

They’re on the Bow Bridge near the Ramble, looking out over the water. Betty watches a couple of rented canoes float underneath before looking up at Jughead expectantly. “Juggie, why are we here?”

 

He turns her in his arms so that her back is flush to his chest and they’re both staring out at the lake. “I used to come here when I first moved to the city with my dad, after things got bad again but before I started sleeping in homeless shelters,” he says. “I tried a lot of locations in Central Park. One of the best ones was near this bridge - just over there.” He points to a collection of trees. “Seeing the bridge, I dunno. It was comforting. Even after I moved to Newark with Archie, if we came to the city I’d try to stop in here.”

 

Betty swallows. She’s heard about his life before Archie and his dad took him in, but it’s one thing to think about his homelessness and another thing altogether to see it. She squeezes his hand.

 

Jughead squeezes back. “Sometimes I walk through the park just to sit here for awhile. I haven’t had to do that in a while,” he adds, “not since you came into my life. Just seeing your face makes me feel more at home than this bridge ever did. But sometimes, rarely - like the day I ran out - when I need a place to think, I come here. Archie knows I like this spot; that’s how he found me that day.”

 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she whispers, wishing she was facing him so that she could kiss him. She settles for pulling his arms more tightly around her, and smiles when his fingers dig into her sides.

 

“I’m not perfect, Betts.” He kisses her ear, then rests his head against the side of hers briefly. “I wish I was for you, because that’s who you deserve. But I’m what you’ve got to work with, I suppose. And Betty, I swear to you that I will _never_ run out on you again. Never. That day - I was so scared about what it all meant, of you being that important to me. Of course, by then it way too late. You were already there, I was already so fucking gone for you.”

 

Betty doesn’t even try to suppress the smile that crosses her face. “The feeling is mutual, Juggie,” she says softly.

 

His lips press against her ear again. “I know,” he says. “I’m the luckiest asshole in the world. This whole thing yesterday - you’re already it for me. I won’t lie to you and tell you that the idea isn’t scary as fuck, but I had a dream last night about a little baby and it was _ours,_ Betts, she was _ours._ It was such a good dream. I woke up so happy, and when I realized it was just a dream I was still happy, because you were there beside me. And this is all ahead of us still. We can still have all of that. And if I ever - I swear I won’t, but if I ever have some kind of brain malfunction and you can’t find me - I’ll be here. I promise.”

 

Betty can’t face away from him any longer, not when he’s saying all of these things and making her feel so full. She turns in his arms, slides her hands up his chest, and kisses him. His shoulders are tense and rigid with the loss of his last safe place, but when she deepens the kiss, she can feel it fading.

 

He loves her, she thinks. Her back presses against the side of the bridge, cutting painfully, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s here, he loves her, he wants to have her forever, and for the first time Betty thinks that regardless of what happens, it’s going to be okay.

 

**-fin-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the response to this coda. Please leave me a comment - it means so much to a writer. The same goes for all the other stories in this tag! Make sure you comment on those too!
> 
> Thanks everyone!


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